Sword of the Fallen
by Elf Knight
Summary: A shocking secret is revealed to Eragon, Saphira, and Arya who subsequently embark on an epic journey to save all of Alageasia from the iron fist of a mad king. Join these three heroes as their apocalyptic quest thunders towards its climax!
1. Prologue: The Burning Blade

**Author's Note:** I do not own anything that has to do with _The Inheritance Cycle_. However, any alterations and OC's are of my own making and thus under my possession. In addition, this fanfic is set _after_ the first three books and is my version of _Inheritance_ – the long awaited and yet to be released Book 4. Let's see if I can finish this before CP releases the real one. *grins* By the way, this prologue is inspired by a certain part of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ but the rest is unique and different, trust me.

So let the race begin!

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><p><strong>Prologue:<strong> The Burning Blade

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><p>All was dark and silent.<p>

It was well past midnight and only one lone figure stood - silhouetted against the cloudy, starless sky, in the rough - mountainous landscape. Due to the inky-black cloak he wore with an upturned hood that billowed all about him, none knew who he really was at first glance.

Even so, one could still make out that the figure held himself tall and proud with the air of a warrior. He stood strong, with his hands clasped at his waist, as one used to being in a position of authority and knowing how to get it.

At the same time, his back was hunched like one who had carried many weights there, the weight of the world it seemed. He was not all-together a pleasant person to look upon though for an eerie feeling surrounded him, like an aura of pure darkness, for this man was none other than King Galbatorix.

Bane of the Dragon Riders and King of the Empire, Galbatorix stood silent and alone before the grave of, perhaps, his worst enemy: Brom. Only his dragon stood guard as the ancient figure of malice, vengefulness and evil stood. It was as if he was watching and waiting for something important to happen.

Whatever the case, he did something a moment later that would change the fate of the world forever.

It was a simple act, but Galbatorix paced both hands upon the crystal tomb. He could feel the magic alive and withering, beneath his palms. The tomb stank of magic. Worse yet, it was _Dragon _Magic.

A low snarl escaped his lips as the king could not suppress a shudder of revulsion.

It was the thing he hated most – the thing he tried to stamp out during The Fall, the thing he nearly succeeded in. And yet, he – King Galbatorix the Great – had failed.

He had failed to kill the three most important dragons in all of Alageasia: Saphira, Thorn, and the last unnamed dragon, a green one to be exact. Saphira had chosen a dull and dim-witted farm-boy, a nobody, who was easy to manipulate and control.

Thorn had chosen Galbatorix's name slave – Murtagh – who was so broken that he was ready to do just about anything to tip the scales in his favour. The last dragon had, as of yet, not hatched but the king knew in his gut that it would chose someone just as stupid if not more so.

It was a cyclical thing it seemed with these dragons: Chose someone dumb enough or needy enough to believe themself to be 'special' or a 'Chosen One' and then twist them towards their will, binding them to their command.

Had Jarnunvösk, his first and true dragon, done that with him? No matter. Galbatorix restrained a flash of guttural anger and instead concentrated on what he had come to do or rather _for_.

Sneering with contempt, he scrutinized the still form of Brom – the only Dragon Rider to survive his hand of justice. And yet, he had failed in the end just as his pathetic apprentice would. That was why he had come here in the first place: For the one thing that would ensure his reign of freedom and justice from the corruption and malice of the Riders.

Taking a deep breath, he began to murmur a series of complex spells that would draw power from the Eldunarya he had on his person. It would deplete much of his energy he had slaved away for, but it would be well worth it. The object he had come here today for was a talisman of raw power, far stronger than any Eldunarya would ever be.

Several hours passed and his spell was finally starting to take effect. Faint cracks were splitting the smooth surface of the crystal tomb. It drained much energy from Galbatorix and he had to pull energy from other Eldunarya to sustain him but it was soon paying off. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his hands trembled but it would soon be over with.

The cracks on the tomb were getting larger, more irregular, and deeper. An aggravating grinding sound hurt his advanced hearing but he persisted. At last, there was a thunderous roar and the crystal tomb split in twain. Shards of diamonds flew everywhere in a wide radius around the tomb. A number of them sliced past or into Galbatorix's skin, splashing him with fresh blood.

He winced in pain but healed his wounds swiftly. A short while later, there was an utter, eerie silence. The king could not even hear the heart-beat of his dragon that stood guard nearby. It was an apocalyptic moment.

His heart pounded in his chest as Galbatorix took a step closer to his triumph. Reaching out a trembling hand, he unsheathed the sword of Brom or, what was interpreted from the Ancient Language, the Burning Blade.

Grinning from ear to ear, Galbatorix allowed himself to bask in his moment of glory as he held the powerful weapon in his hands. It was a simple thing to look upon on the outside, but Galbatorix new full and well that it was a blade of great power.

He had studied Ancient Objects made by the Grey Folk, a long lost race, for centuries and had finally found one of their last devices. Now he had something that would surely defeat Eragon and Saphira, bringing all of the resistance to its knees.

It was only a matter of time. Now, all he had to do was wait. And so he did as he made his way in glee towards his waiting dragon. Unbeknownst to him, another silent figure stood a few feet away from the tomb to the north – shaking with fury.

He wore an Amulet of Invisibility, one of the last of its kind, so Galbatorix had not seen him. But he would soon come out of hiding for he had found his answer. All he needed was for someone to fulfil it, and that person – the only one who could – currently resided with the Varden.

**To Be Continued...**

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><p><strong>AN:** Well there you have it! The Prologue of my new story is up. I have some really cool and hopefully different ideas up. This may seem like a rip-off of Harry Potter but nothing much is after this. It was only this first chapter since it was crucial to the plot-line.

I hope you like it!


	2. Chapter 1: Haunts of the Past

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance Cycle or anything within it. Anything I made up for this story though, is – usually – of my possession.

**Chapter 1:** Haunts of the Past

Eragon Shadeslayer sat in silence.

He was not alone, for he had Saphira and Arya with him but they were surrounded by a calming and soothing stillness. It was strange, but ever since defeating the new Shade called Varaug, Arya had never left his side.

Not for a moment.

Well, except when he slept. But even then she had ordered her tent to be moved right next to his. It was strange and most disconcerting, to say the least, for Arya to act this way.

Usually, she was an impassive and stoic elf who would not betray any sense of emotion or feeling. But now, it was as if she _wanted_ to be close to him. Only a few days had passed since the Battle for Feinster so Eragon had not mustered up the courage to speak with her about it.

He did not want to give the elf the wrong intensions and he was simply glad for her company. Aside from a few playful taunts by Roran, Horst, and a few others from Palancar Valley, Eragon enjoyed her closeness.

Today, they were sitting on a grassy knoll with their backs to the still smouldering city. It was a tough job to clean up after the battle and took a long time even with the help of the elves, as the army at the Gil'ead had sent a party to lend them assistance.

Eragon was suspicious that it was for other reasons – such as keeping an eye on him and Arya – but he let it be. Queen Islandzi could do as she wished and he was grateful for the help. Because of the extra hands, he did not have to use so much of his magic and could take some much needed rest.

Saphira was sleeping on the plain bellow, currently, and Arya was nodding in and out of sleep beside him. At first, he was worried that she would fall and soil herself but she had insisted that she was fine and did not want to leave him.

So he had let her doze beside him as he drank in the subdued beauty of the surrounding countryside. It was lush and green but tarnished after the battle. Much of the countryside was in shambles from the war and drenched in blood, but some beauty still prevailed and Eragon kept his eyes peeled for that perfect touch.

He was also on the lookout for his adopted brother – Orik. Now king of the dwarves, Orik was coming with the dwarvish army. Together, they would march onto the city of Beletona, next to Drass-Leona, and finally Uru'Baen.

Uru'Baen.

Eragon's stomach clenched at the thought of the dark citadel. It pained him to think of what lay there: Murtagh and Galbatorix.

Murtagh was his half-brother and once a best friend. He was still his friend from his part but they were now on opposite sides of the war. It was a sorrowful thing as everything Eragon knew and held dear came crashing down around his ears.

Sometimes, he just couldn't cope with it.

Sometimes, he just could not move on.

Sometimes, he felt like he was an utter failure and wished dearly Saphira had chosen another Rider.

He was darn thankful that she was asleep or else she'd lick him until he was a dripping mess. Then there was Arya.

Arya.

She was like a faint glimmer of hope in the storms of his life. She was what inspired him to move and to be and to live.

She made him change and adapt to each new lifestyle he was introduced. And yet, she spurned him. He wondered how they stood now that she was opening up to him more.

Her behaviour was peculiar and he was curious about it. So caught up in his musing was he, that he failed to notice Arya's head fall onto his shoulder.

Eragon froze at her touch, startled.

What in the Empire was going on here?

A tumult of emotions crashed through him and he glanced furtively at her sleeping form. Her eyes were closed and her frame was shivering, so she nuzzled into the nook of Eragon's neck moving closer to him.

Sweat beaded on Eragon's brow and goose-bumps broke out on his neck. For a moment, he was terrified that she would wake up and beat the living daylights out of him. He feared how she would react upon waking, that it would mean the end of their friendship.

At the same time, he was thrilled by her touch and the warm feeling that filled his being. It made him feel alive and wondrous as Arya rested her head on his shoulder. It was a simple act of comfort but made him feel as if he was on top of the world.

"Well, well, well," Said a voice from behind. "What do we have here?"

Startled, Eragon nearly jumped but – not wanting to disturb Arya – only turned his head. A wave of relief washed over him as he saw that it was only Roran. His broad-shouldered cousin was smirking, arms folded across his chest, as he stood before him with his hammer in his belt.

"Having a fun time?" Roran teased. 

"Shut it," Eragon growled, but he secretly liked the attention.

It had been a while since he saw his cousin and the big man seemed a little more subdued and _changed_, for lack of a better word, than when he last saw him. As if on cue, Roran sobered up and crossed the space towards him in quick easy strides.

Letting out a pent-up breath, he plopped down on the grass beside him, kicking up his legs and leaning his chin on his fist. A brooding, meditative silence passed between them as each cousin were caught up in their own thoughts.

"You're a hard one to find," Roran said thoughtfully after a while. Then he hastily added. "When you have a mind to be!"

Eragon chuckled and nodded his agreement.

"I can be a tough one," He said. "But it looks like I'm not the only one hiding. What's bothering you?"

"How do you mean?" Roran asked, confused.

"It's plainly obvious that you are running away from something," Eragon said bluntly, wanting to get right to the point. "Why else would you seek me out?" 

"Do I need an excuse to chat with my own _cousin_?" Roran asked in mock offence.

Eragon smirked, "Looks like it."

Roran punched Eragon's arm playfully and the two joked around a bit more. After a while, Eragon got to the matter again. 

"What is it, really?" He asked, trying his best to sound serious. "What troubles you?"

Roran hemmed and hawed, looking guiltily about him for a few moments. However, he finally gave in at the look of insistence on Eragon's face.

"Nasuada," He mumbled at last.

Now Eragon was thoroughly bewildered.

"Why her?" He asked, wrinkling his brow in confusion.

Roran took a deep breath and let it out slowly, clenching his fists.

"Some time ago," He whispered, keeping his eyes fixed at a distance. "I was given a position of command in unison with another captain. We were sent out on a raiding mission against the Empire..."

Roran's voice trailed off and Eragon could tell he had some difficulty bringing him to speak of this matter. He had obviously touched a nerve.

"And?" He prodded gently, leaning forward slightly to show his genuine interest.

"It was a death trap," Roran said grimly, his face grave. "We were outnumbered ten to one. It was obvious right from the start that we were going to lose. I could not stand the thought of defeat after coming so far and did not want to lose so many good lives."

He hesitated again, squirming and Eragon resisted a flash of irritation.

"While I am interested to hear this story, you don't have to tell me if it bothers you," Eragon offered. "But sometimes, it's good to just let it go and tell someone than have the thing that annoys you corrupt your soul."

"Since when did you become so wise?" Roran joked, but his voice held a bitter edge.

Eragon paused, contemplating his answer.

"Experience," He said simply and Roran nodded with some reluctance. "So do you want to tell me, or..."

"Nah," Roran said quickly. "I'll tell you."

After a moment of silence, he continued. It was nearing dusk. "In the spur of the moment, I took matters into my own hands. I led a group of men who were loyal to me. Even though my plans contradicted Nasuada's, I commanded them to carry out a strategy that would ensure victory if not our escape. I killed nearly 200 men in that battle thanks to the wards you gave me, but I almost wish I had died."

"Why?" Eragon interjected, now thoroughly confused.

Roran's face hardened and his eyes glared into the oncoming sunset.

"When I returned to the Varden," He said in a strained voice. "Nasuada was not pleased as I expected. She...she had me whipped with thirty lashes."

Eragon gasped and his face paled. How could the woman have done such a thing? But then his mindset changed when he realised why. Nasuada had to show that insubordination, no matter if done with good intension, was wrong.

The world was at war. Lives were at stake. If Roran got away with his compromise, other captains would follow in suit. They would do the same thing and offer the same excuse. Heaving a resigned sigh, Eragon said the only thing he could think of to put his cousin at ease.

"Roran," He said firmly but gently. "Many people have done many wrong things for all the right reasons in the past. Some people have done things before far worse than you have." 

"Name some," Roran spat, his gaze avoiding Eragon.

Eragon took a deep breath and blurted out the most obvious one. "Galbatorix."

Roran's reaction was instantaneous and as expected.

"Are you comparing me with that vile oath-breaker? How dare you?" He fumed, shaking.

Placing a restraining hand on Roran's shoulder, Eragon spoke in calm and even tones. "I am not comparing you to that mad traitor. He is not even fit to be called a king and you are far better than him."

Roran seemed to calm down some and Eragon continued slowly but surely.

"I am simply using he best comparison I could think of," He explained. "Galbatorix started out with good intensions. Most of the Riders in his day were corrupt and greedy, using their envied gift of a dragon to attend their every wish and whim. Galbatorix was in error to stand up to them nonetheless and a wave of terror followed after him. I will not say that the king's intensions were good and pure as he was motivated by madness and revenge, but the aftermath was wrong and that makes his decision wrong as one plus one equals two."

"So I did the wrong thing," Roran said softly, his voice like ice.

Eragon tensed, waiting for his cousin's fury. But Roran just sat there, his gaze fixed onto the horizon.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing into the grey landscape.

At first, Eragon thought it was a trick so that Roran could catch him off-guard and beat him up. But then he saw a flicker of movement out of his eye, a flash of light as if from a blade. Quickly, he awoke Arya who murmured her protest but snapped out of it quickly when she realised who she was clinging too.

Eragon and Roran burst into laughter as the elvish princess leapt off Eragon and broke out into protests and denials. But they ceased when a foreign presence of great power and authority entered the fringe of their minds. Saphira awoke with a start and even Roran looked afraid as if he too could feel its presence.

Something powerful was coming closer and closer to them and they instantly drew their weapons. Eragon and Arya unsheathed their swords in sync with a crisp sound of steel ring. Roran flourished his hammer and Saphira positioned herself in front of the trio, barring her fangs and needing the dirt.

Time seemed to slow as a blurry shape sped on towards them. It got bigger and bigger as the seconds flew by and Eragon's tension mounted with each one. It was only when Arya sent a startling, unexpected message telepathically that he calmed down some.

_That was very mature of you,_ She said with genuine praise and Eragon's ears tinged pink from the compliment. But she surprised him further by adding. _I may ask you for advice sometime._

Eragon felt a swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach but diverted his attention to the approaching being for it was becoming more visible by the second. At last, it took on the distinctive shape of a man on a horse.

At first, Eragon thought it was a scout from the dwarves or the elves. But then he was amazed to see that a silver, glistening horn protruded with a delicate grace from the horse's forehead.

He had heard tales about these creatures as a child but only thought them to be fairy tales. For the beast that the newcomer rode was a unicorn and Eragon's heart nearly stopped when he saw its rider:

It was Tenga.

**To Be Continued...**

**A/N:** And there you have it! So what will happen between Eragon and Roran? It seems like they are reconciled but will their friendship hold? And why is Arya acting so strange? To make things even more peculiar, what on earth is Tenga doing at the Varden and why so soon? Well stay tuned as each and more of these questions will be answered in Chapter Two and the other episodes that follow!

I hope you like it!


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